What Defines Us
by Lazy.Admiral
Summary: Of course the Scotts knew their little boys were... different. One of them was blue, for Pete's sake.


_AN: So yeah... I haven't written anything in **forever** and then stumbled into the Megamind tags and, well... yeah. Story prompted by a post of the Megamind Kink Meme looking for a 'Megamind grows up raised by the Scotts' AU.  
_

_Feedback is much appreciated! Enjoy!_

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He was always so much gentler than his brother.

Sally Scott had felt it the first time she had held them both, that fateful Christmas Eve. While Wayne was up and _goodness he was flying_ within moments of popping out of his sparkling golden pod, Michael was sweet and docile and _so_ much more fragile. _Like a baby should be_, she thought, with an eye on the small boy zooming overhead. And when Michael lay in her arms, clutching that strange domed fish and looking up at her with those vivid green eyes...

"Are you sure-" Robert began, when he finally looked over the rim of his newspaper, at the infant in her arms.

"Yes," was all she replied. He could be purple with green polka dots for all she cared; he was her _son_.

The differences only became more obvious as they grew. Although the paediatrcian (well-recommended for his discretion in _sensitive_ matters) estimated both boys were mere days old, Wayne was up and toddling around within the week. When he wasn't flying around the chandeliers, of course. Or burning laser-trails along the wallpaper. Or breaking doors or bending cutlery or that one time he grabbed her hand a fraction too hard. She spent _weeks_ with one arm bound in a cast.

Well, it wasn't like Wayne particularly _enjoyed_ being carried anyway. Not like Michael did.

Robert patted her shoulder with forced gentleness, murmured in hushed tones. Wayne was _strong_, and controlling that sort of strength in a world that wasn't equipped to deal with it wasn't something that a baby could learn overnight. _Of course._

_Michael might have_, she thought, but only in the quiet of her own mind. Never out loud. No, never, not even to Robert.

Her little boy was a little slower to get on his feet. His rapidly-growing cranium caused him no end of balance problems as he rolled, then crawled, then tentatively learned to shuffle his feet along the floor while clutching the furniture, or her good hand. But it didn't stop him learning and _heavens he was fast_. Virtually silent for the first six months, aside from the odd happy burble or a whimper when his fish-ball rolled just out of his limited reach, one day he looked up at her, hand wrapped firmly in the material of her skirt, and asked for his juice. No baby jargon for him, oh no, although the pronunciation was a little off. Just crisp and clear speech as if he'd been chattering away all his life.

Sally had been ecstatic and after rewarding her darling boy with the requested juice-box, had picked him up and whirled through the house to Robert, already rattling off schools she knew that catered to gifted children. Genius had to be nurtured, after all, and who knew? Perhaps her little boy's parents had belonged to a race of supergeniuses. It would explain his slightly larger than normal head (still bald), if not his complexion.

Of course that had been the crux of it, when Robert had explained (slowly and gently as if she were a child herself) that it was something they'd need to look into. Wayne looked like any other child of course, but he couldn't be expected to hide his natural talents at such a young age – an understanding school would need to be found. But perhaps for Michael, who still toddled with a slight wobble in his step and acted for all the world like any normal child aught to, maybe it was best to keep him at home. It was bad enough Robert had to make up some nonsense to their social circle of 'skin conditions' and 'deformity' to explain the child's appearance. What would it be like in a school with children who were far less educated in social tact and graces?

There had been ringing in her ears and angry tears blurring her vision but she realised there was some truth to her husband's words. Both their sons were different. But only one of them looked it.

Tutors were brought in. At first, the two boys were tutored together, although it soon became apparent that for all Wayne's physical gifts, his mental prowess was little better than that of a regular human child. In this field, at least, Michael left his brother in the dust, and Sally had to squash the tiny surge of pride she felt. Not because she wasn't proud of Michael, she was... but it felt too much like picking favourites, and she wouldn't.

Even if it meant holding back a wince when Wayne reached for her hand.

School suited Wayne down to the ground, of course. He was charismatic, if a bit pushy, and Robert crowed after the first parent-teacher meeting, waving away the concerned comments about Wayne still being a bit rough in games and focussing on phrases like 'natural leader', 'confident with others' and 'first to help settle arguments'.

_Wasn't it the teacher's job to sort out playground squabbles_, Sally wondered as she went up the stairs after letting the nanny away. Surely it was ill-advised to let a small boy take on the role of school peacekeeper, especially when that was a job for adults who were older and wiser than him?

It became a routine, for her to go up to Michael's room at the end of the day. Wayne would be sent to bed at a proper hour, of course, and Robert would go and perhaps read him a story, or give him some father-son motivational pep talk. Sally wasn't sure, and didn't ask. But she would go to Michael's and sit on his bed and watch as he finished whatever his current project was – an ionic water purifier, a prototype for a robot body for his pet fish (Minion, he'd called him), a process to dehydrate things into small blue cubes. She didn't bother telling him to go to bed – she'd learned early he slept in roughly four-hour stints, and disrupting those patterns caused more bother than it was worth. Besides, if his enthusiastic explanations (which admittedly she only half-understood) were anything to go by, he liked having the audience.

Her conscience prickled her sometimes. There was no denying Michael was intellectually brilliant, but he had no experience with other children, not like Wayne had. The two boys were close, of course – Michael took great pains to help Wayne with his much-hated homework, explaining everything patiently and clearly so even Wayne's increasingly short-temper was often soothed. And in return Wayne played the perfect older brother to a tee, regaling him with stories of school and teaching him the games they played.

Sally waited for Michael to ask why he was never sent to school. It wasn't until much, much later she realised he probably already knew why.

It had to go wrong at some point. Little grudges and petty remarks, Wayne getting yet another C minus on his report card, Wayne getting his first girlfriend and not-so-kindly rubbing Michael's face in the fact he wouldn't even know how to speak to a girl, let alone date one. Sullen breakfasts turning into tense afternoons, turning into the sound of crashing upstairs and slamming doors and the smell of singed metal . Sometimes she went upstairs and stood outside Michael's door, listening. Sometimes he cried, other times she heard quiet murmuring and she worried. It was one thing to talk to your pet fish when you were six, ten, twelve, but seventeen?

Robert would chuckle to cover the awkward silence, muttering "Teenagers."

And then Robert died.

Heart attack at work. He'd gone into his office, the secretary said, sat down finish some paperwork and simply hadn't gotten back up again.

When they got back from the funeral, Wayne went up to his room without a word. Michael stayed with her, though, as she pulled out the photo albums, fingertips lingering over ghosts of old Christmasses, birthdays, days out. Happy times, and if she lingered over some more than others, Michael didn't scold her for it.

He simply held her hand, and waited.

It was a few days, maybe weeks, before it all fell apart. Another parent-teacher conference – there had been a fight, a boy was in hospital, Wayne was nowhere to be found. Suddenly there was talk of police and charges and _jail_.

Michael had come with her, and sat in the car while she had listened. He stayed quiet on the drive back, speaking only to tell her it would 'all be okay'. She didn't believe him any more than she'd believed Robert.

Wayne was home when they got back, already heading for the door with a suitcase in hand.

"Anywhere but here," he answered when she'd asked where he was going.

Sally didn't remember what she'd said – something about being a family, and taking responsibility, and being stronger together. But the moment it was out of her mouth, she realised it had been a mistake. It was as if a thread snapped and the look in Wayne's eyes reminded her of a smiling toddler, laughing as she cried over a fractured wrist.

"Family? _Family?_," he sneered, perfect lips pulled back over perfect teeth. "The only family I ever had is _dead_. You never wanted me here, you only ever wanted _him_."

"Leave her alone, Wayne," Michael's voice was quiet, but calm. He was unarmed, and skinny as a rake but he stood between Sally and the man who should have been her son.

"You gonna stop me, _blue?_" The twist of Wayne's mouth was cruel.

"If I have to."

"Good."

And then he was gone, doors blown open and Wayne's silhouette disappearing into the Metro City skyline.

Those words haunted her as the headlines came in over breakfast the next day, the reporter on the television screen proclaiming devastation and wreckage, with a super-powered villain at it's eye. _Metro Man_, he called himself, as if he had a right to claim this city and everyone in it.

For the second time in as many days, Sally accosted one of her sons as he attempted to leave the house.

"I said I'd stop him," he answered before she even asked. "And I will."

He'd brought various odds and ends down with him – Minion's sphere was carried suspended in a metallic frame with arms and legs, carrying a large case that Sally suddenly didn't want to know the contents of. But the biggest change of all was Michael's clothing, thick black leather that almost succeeded in hiding his painfully skinny frame.

She begged, she pleaded. She told him he'd die trying to stop him, that Wayne was too strong. He didn't seem to hear her.

"It has to be me," he said as if that made everything make sense. "He's my brother. If I don't stop him, who will?"

He left her standing the empty hallway, wondering where she'd gone wrong.

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_AN: So... am I kicked out the fandom yet?_


End file.
